


Drinking Alone

by SecondSilk



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Kissing, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-04
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House refuses to leave Wilson alone on New Year's Eve.<br/>A New Year's Kisslet</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Alone

Wilson was not looking forward to the new year. He had planned to sleep through the calling of midnight, which was why he wasn't simply on call at the hospital. But it was 11.42 by the count down clock in the corner of his television screen, and the barest noise from inside the hotel or from the streets surrounding it jerked him back into consciousness.

He pushed himself up in bed, resigned to wait out the remaining minutes til the fireworks went off. Then he could justify a drink, which would hopefully knock his restless mind out long enough for exhausted body to take control for a moment.

Someone knocked on his door.

Wilson's fists clenched on the edge of the quilt. Whoever it was knocked again, and Wilson refused to tell them to go away. He would just pretend that he was sleeping or not there.

"Wilson! You can't be having sex in there. Or if you are, let me join in."

It was House, and before Wilson even decided whether he would open the door, he was out of bed and reaching for his dressing gown. House knocked again, probably with the head of his cane, Wilson thought, and even the imagined image brought back a painful sense of nostalgia.

He opened the door and was confronted with the ragged and blue tinged version of the image in his head.

House didn't wait for a greeting, simply walked past him into the room, and Wilson was relieved that he wasn't yet required to say anything.

"You're really not having sex in here," House said, as though he were surprised. He seemed just as eager that Wilson not say anything, because he immediately asked where the champagne was and followed the wave of Wilson's arm to the fridge.

"Vodka, excellent substitute."

House leant into the fridge and pulled out two mockingly small bottles of alcohol. He threw one to Wilson, who caught it silently. House didn't open his bottle. He carried it carefully across the room and placed it on the bedside table without Wilson's book on it.

"Why are you here?" Wilson asked. It was a half-hearted demand, because he too glad to see House on his feet to worry about what game he might be playing. But it was his line in whichever game it might be.

"It's new year's eve," House said, aghast that this needed explanation. "I couldn't have you drinking alone, it sets a very bad precedent."

"Of not sharing my alcohol with you?"

"Exactly," House said, with the same irritation that this could not simply be taken for granted.

Wilson had never taken anything about House for granted. And he had never minded what anyone took for granted from him until a week ago. It was clear, now, that House considered their relationship to be reparable. Wilson was not sure that the relief he felt was at all healthy. But he was in his pyjama's at 11.56 on New Year's Eve; he was long past caring.

House dropped his overcoat on the floor beside the bed and sat down. Wilson watched, the way one watches intelligent animals in the zoo, as House examined the smooth quilt and eventually deciding to take of his shoes, actually taking off his shoes, swinging his left leg onto the bed and dragging his right one beside it. He spent a few moments rearranging the pillows so he could sprawl up against the headboard. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with House at all, lying on Wilson's bed, his hands behind his head.

"You're blocking the view of the TV," House said, sharply. He nodded to the other side of the bed.

Wilson walked around the bed and climbed back under his covers, his shot of vodka still caught in his fist. He looked at it moment, then looked sideways and caught House's eye. He unscrewed it and threw the metal cap across the room. House was tapping the neck of his vodka against his lip in time with the seconds counting down on the TV screen.

When midnight came they could hear cheers from the hotel ballroom over the popping of fireworks from everywhere. Wilson downed his drink in one swallow.

"Happy New Year," he said, turning slightly to look at House.

House dropped the bottle of vodka and reached out to grab Wilson, hauling him by his ears to kiss him on the lips. The kiss was dry and brief and Wilson could feel House's grin. Wilson blinked, not finding any response at all. House scooped up his mini bottle, pulled the cap off, and emptied it down his throat.

"Happy New Year," he said.


End file.
